A quick session in an estuary on my way to my Caravan – Rowing team in the distance.

A two hour Taster for the days ahead. a 3:30 am start

It’s been a strange summer. To be honest, it’s been a frustrating one. If you’re a sea angler in North Wales, you’ll know exactly what I mean. The hot weather has been relentless, and while it’s been great for the tan, it’s been disastrous for the delicate ecosystems of our seas.

We’ve been staring at what many are now calling the “Barren Sea.” The signs have been non-existent. For months, there have been no bait prawns, no mackerel. The usual summer frenzy just hasn’t happened. While there have been a few sporadic clusters of bass showing in the estuaries and parts of the Menai Straits, the Llyn Peninsula—my usual haunt—has been worryingly quiet.

When the fishing gets this bad, the theories start flying. The paranoia sets in. You hear whispers on the rocks blaming the industrial-sized commercial ships dredging up the seabed. Others point the finger at AI, or changing currents, and yes, some even blame the Russians. I’m not sure what the truth is, but the absence of bass is palpable. Curiously, the Pollock seem unaffected, which only deepens the mystery.

A Holiday Interlude

With the fishing so poor, I decided to score some much-needed brownie points with the wife. Instead of spending my leave in my lovely newish touring caravan on the south side of the Llyn, we jetted off to Kalkan, Turkey.

It was a fabulous holiday. The sun, the sea, the food—it was exactly what the doctor ordered. But you can take the angler out of the water, but you can’t take the water out of the angler. Even while relaxing, my mind kept drifting back to the rocky marks of home.

The Cornish Gamekeeper and the Big Tide

Upon returning to Wales, the itch was unbearable. I arranged to meet up with my mate Darren, a Cornish gamekeeper who knows his way around a shoreline. We decided to target a rocky mark. The conditions looked promising: a big tide, light winds, and warm weather and a full moon that illuminated everything.

It was a proper trek. A thirty-minute walk through boulders and heather, scrambling over rough terrain to reach a rocky headland. When we finally arrived, the conditions looked textbook, but there were no visual signs—no fish jumping, no birds working.

A mark we passed on a lovely place but not good on big tides. I needed a fish.

I Txt my mate, Smiga, a foraging expert he claimed that I could have eaten these. Despite not trusting him enough to try, the mushrooms looked great in that regard.

Could I trust Smiga ?

I was half-empty, half-full. After so many blanks this summer, my confidence was shot. I was hopeful, but realistic. I just wanted one fish.

“I’m In!”

It wasn’t long before the silence was broken.

“I’m in! Ye ha!” Darren shouted with a mix of glee and sheer relief.

Then, it happened. That electric jolt through my arm. The one that keeps us coming back. The bass are back, I thought. Darren landed another. Within two hours before high tide, we had three bass on the rocks between us. The curse was broken.

As quickly as it started, the switch flicked off. The action died until midnight.

I decided to switch tactics, putting on a white Dolive. I let it drift before slowly retrieving it with the odd twitch, but if I’m honest, I wasn’t really concentrating. While I was chatting to Darren, I was distracted and about to pull the lure out of the water to move on somewhere else.

The calm shattered the moment, a nice bass—easily 60cm—bolted 15 yards out to sea, smashing the lure. The take was savage. I was shocked; I thought it was bigger than it was. It fought hard as it was so close in. I managed to drag it back through the calm waters and land it on the heavily cobbled beach.

A Long Slim One hooked almost at my feet

It was a long, slim bass. I couldn’t help but wonder if its lean frame was due to the lack of food around this year. Regardless, I was delighted. The long run of blanks was officially over.

Getting the Mojo Back

The following day, I decided to keep the momentum going with a bit of fun on two historical islands. It was a completely different vibe. I caught a bunch of Pollock—all very small, but it was great fun exploring and some nice sport.

Pollock heaven

The islands were stunning. Just being out in the daytime with a blue sky and a warm 25mph southerly wind on my back was bliss. It wasn’t about the size of the catch; it was about being out there.

Getting around this slab of rock was tough

That session helped get my fishing mojo back. The sea might be struggling, and the “Barren Sea” theories will continue to swirl, but for now, the bass are still out there. You just have to put in the miles to find them.

Tight lines,

Cheers all.